Hot Tuna: 50+ Years of Flavor Freshness

LEFT: Jack Casady thunders out the groove onstage with his signature Epiphone hollowbody bass. RIGHT: Jorma Kaukonen onstage with an LP-295 goldtop
Les Paul outfitted with a Bigsby vibrato and a flower-motif pickguard.

“Jack and I have never had a
band meeting—how about
that?” says Jorma Kaukonen of
his decades-long partnership with
bassist Jack Casady in the legendary
rock bands Jefferson Airplane
and, later, Hot Tuna. “We’ve
never had to do anything but
concentrate on the music.” In fact,
the title of Hot Tuna’s new album,
Steady As She Goes—their first studio
record in 20 years—is a nautical
tip of the cap to Kaukonen
and Casady’s long relationship.

Just how long is “long”?

Kaukonen, who recently
turned 70, says, “We’ve been
playing together for 53 years
now. We grew up together in
Washington, D.C.”

Over that time, both have
become giants in the music
business. As player of an instrument
that’s often valued for how
well it disappears into a song’s
underground, Casady is virtually
unparalleled—and yet he has one
of the most truly unique electric-bass
voices in rock. Like any
good bassist, he can melt into a
supportive role. But when opportunity
knocks, he bursts forth
with creative lines—both simple
and ornate—that are unlike any
you’ve heard. (Few bass lines
are more recognizable than his
ominous, exotic-sounding intro
to Jefferson Airplane’s psychedelic
anthem “White Rabbit.”)

Kaukonen and Casady onstage, the former with his Les Paul and the latter with his Epiphone signature hollowbody
bass.
Photo by Barry Berenson

But Casady also has an
important place in the development
of the electric bass itself.
Like most players of his era, he
began on a solidbody Fender (he
played a Jazz bass on Surrealistic
Pillow), but found himself
longing for an instrument with
more dynamic response. And
along with the Grateful Dead’s
Phil Lesh and others in the
San Francisco scene, Casady
became a test pilot for the revolutionary
work being done by
Alembic. Electronics whiz Ron
Wickersham and woodworker
extraordinaire Rick Turner
first heavily modified Casady’s
hollowbody Guild Starfire basses
(check out 1970’s Woodstock
film) with low-impedance pickups
and preamps. But before
long, Casady moved over to what
is arguably the first boutique bass
ever—an Alembic with the serial
number 72-01.

As for Kaukonen, though he
and Casady are best known for
high-volume psychedelic rock,
his roots run deep in acoustic
blues and gospel music. When
he came on the scene, he was
an avid fingerstyle player in
a world of rockers launching
into inner-space on solidbody
electrics. But Kaukonen chose a
Gibson ES-345 throughout the
Airplane’s ride from the ’60s San
Francisco scene into the Top 40.

While the Airplane eventually
mutated into other lineups,
Kaukonen and Casady formed
Hot Tuna and continued exploring
the possibilities of blues, rock,
and improvisation. In 1996,
Casady, Kaukonen, and the rest
of the Airplane were inducted
into the Rock and Roll Hall of
Fame, but the dynamic guitar-and-bass duo is clearly far from
done. And for the Steady As She
Goes release, the band headed to
the Barn—a studio in Woodstock,
New York, that’s owned by Levon
Helm (drummer/vocalist for the
Band)—and put producer Larry
Campbell at the controls.

We talked and listened as both
of these icons in spoke in depth
about their respective crafts, songwriting,
collaborating, and the
gear that helps them create their
eclectic, singular rock sound. We
begin first with our Kaukonen
Q&A, followed by our interview
with Casady later in this article.

I just got off my lazy ass and
made a record—which doesn’t
make for an exciting interview
quote, but that’s what happened.
Things just lined up
and it seemed like the right
time. I wrote six or seven new
songs and co-wrote with Jack,
[producer] Larry Campbell, and
[mandolinist] Barry Mitterhoff.
We were thinking about making
the record ourselves, but
Red House Records said they
wanted to do it, and Larry said
he’d produce.

Given your lengthy discography,
I don’t think the word
“lazy” is quite apt.

My friend [guitarist/singer/
songwriter] Chris Smither is
full of witty aphorisms, and one
thing he said is, “I like having
written songs, but I hate writing
songs.” Once I start a project,
the songs flow pretty easily,
but I’m such a procrastinator
that I need deadlines for me to
write. We committed to doing
this record, and in the process
we wound up with built-in
deadlines. I had one song, and
then as deadlines approached, I
started collaborating. I’ve never
collaborated on this level before,
and I had a great time doing it.
It was a growth spurt—a really
late-in-life growth spurt.

So, as far as collaborating, you
decided to make a change and
see what would happen?

I have lots of friends who write
songs and I’ve had the opportunity,
but I haven’t done it
before. In the past, I’d look at
somebody else’s song and say,
“I like that, but that’s not really
me—I’m not comfortable in
that zone.” For whatever reason,
the songs that Larry, Jack, and
Barry brought around this time
flowed in an organic way. We
were all on the same page of
vision and poetry, which made
it very easy for me to work
with. It was like having a bigger
brain [laughs].

What’s the key to good
collaboration?

First, you have to be friends.
The other thing is that you
can’t be self-conscious about
putting yourself out there.
We recorded a song, “Angel of
Darkness,” that Larry wrote a
verse and a chorus for. It was
about a woman who had been
abused. He asked me to write
the rest of the song, but I didn’t
really pay attention to what
he had written, and the lyrics
I wrote were about someone
totally different. I wrote about
the wrong woman! So I had to
get to know the woman in the
song and write from her point
of view. You have to pay attention
to what the song says—
and you have to be able to not
feel like a moron if you’re called
out for not catching the song’s
original intent.
With your various projects
over the years, what makes
Hot Tuna Hot Tuna?

The presence of Jack Casady.
Someone asked me to get Jack
to play on my solo record River
of Time, but then it would have
been a Hot Tuna record. Jack is
one of the great bass players, and
his presence on a recording is
undeniable. The rhythm section
is the most important part of any
band—us guys who play the melody
and the lead would be lost
without a good rhythm section.
Jack and our drummer, Skoota
Warner, like each other so much
personally and musically that they
just lock in. This record has many
different kind of songs, with
many different kinds of beats,
and Jack played in a way that I
haven’t heard him play since the
Airplane recordings where we did
a lot of different material.

I teach a lot, and the importance
of the rhythm section is one
of the things I teach. In my solo
guitar playing, my strength is my
thumb—my rhythm section. The
same is true when you get more
than one person making music.
The rhythm is what people feel
without thinking about it.

You know you’re playing well
when you’re playing and you
see the audience moving.

Yeah! As a guitar player, you can
obsess about minutiae, that you
think are brilliant, but nobody
but your friend who is a guitar
player will give a rat’s ass about
that. If the groove is self-sustaining,
you’re there.

Is there something about
Jack’s playing that brings you
together—in addition to
his friendship?

There are a number of components
to Jack’s playing. One is
his inventiveness as a soloist. I
have a finite number of zones
that I can draw my solos from,
but Jack amazes me. When it
comes time to blow, I never know
where he’s coming from—it’s like
he channels this inexhaustible
fountain of creativity. And that’s
exciting. Another thing is that
when it comes time for him to
be a traditional bass player, he’s
totally there. He’s tuned into the
other musicians. When we play
in our quasi-acoustic setting, he
has many different meanderings
he can do in that format, but
when we play electric, he needs to
lock in with the drummer. He’s
able to do both without sounding
self-conscious, and his creativity
shines because of that.

I just got off my lazy ass and
made a record—which doesn’t
make for an exciting interview
quote, but that’s what happened.
Things just lined up
and it seemed like the right
time. I wrote six or seven new
songs and co-wrote with Jack,
[producer] Larry Campbell, and
[mandolinist] Barry Mitterhoff.
We were thinking about making
the record ourselves, but
Red House Records said they
wanted to do it, and Larry said
he’d produce.

Given your lengthy discography,
I don’t think the word
“lazy” is quite apt.

My friend [guitarist/singer/
songwriter] Chris Smither is
full of witty aphorisms, and one
thing he said is, “I like having
written songs, but I hate writing
songs.” Once I start a project,
the songs flow pretty easily,
but I’m such a procrastinator
that I need deadlines for me to
write. We committed to doing
this record, and in the process
we wound up with built-in
deadlines. I had one song, and
then as deadlines approached, I
started collaborating. I’ve never
collaborated on this level before,
and I had a great time doing it.
It was a growth spurt—a really
late-in-life growth spurt.

So, as far as collaborating, you
decided to make a change and
see what would happen?

I have lots of friends who write
songs and I’ve had the opportunity,
but I haven’t done it
before. In the past, I’d look at
somebody else’s song and say,
“I like that, but that’s not really
me—I’m not comfortable in
that zone.” For whatever reason,
the songs that Larry, Jack, and
Barry brought around this time
flowed in an organic way. We
were all on the same page of
vision and poetry, which made
it very easy for me to work
with. It was like having a bigger
brain [laughs].

What’s the key to good
collaboration?

First, you have to be friends.
The other thing is that you
can’t be self-conscious about
putting yourself out there.
We recorded a song, “Angel of
Darkness,” that Larry wrote a
verse and a chorus for. It was
about a woman who had been
abused. He asked me to write
the rest of the song, but I didn’t
really pay attention to what
he had written, and the lyrics
I wrote were about someone
totally different. I wrote about
the wrong woman! So I had to
get to know the woman in the
song and write from her point
of view. You have to pay attention
to what the song says—
and you have to be able to not
feel like a moron if you’re called
out for not catching the song’s
original intent.
With your various projects
over the years, what makes
Hot Tuna Hot Tuna?

The presence of Jack Casady.
Someone asked me to get Jack
to play on my solo record River
of Time, but then it would have
been a Hot Tuna record. Jack is
one of the great bass players, and
his presence on a recording is
undeniable. The rhythm section
is the most important part of any
band—us guys who play the melody
and the lead would be lost
without a good rhythm section.
Jack and our drummer, Skoota
Warner, like each other so much
personally and musically that they
just lock in. This record has many
different kind of songs, with
many different kinds of beats,
and Jack played in a way that I
haven’t heard him play since the
Airplane recordings where we did
a lot of different material.

I teach a lot, and the importance
of the rhythm section is one
of the things I teach. In my solo
guitar playing, my strength is my
thumb—my rhythm section. The
same is true when you get more
than one person making music.
The rhythm is what people feel
without thinking about it.

You know you’re playing well
when you’re playing and you
see the audience moving.

Yeah! As a guitar player, you can
obsess about minutiae, that you
think are brilliant, but nobody
but your friend who is a guitar
player will give a rat’s ass about
that. If the groove is self-sustaining,
you’re there.

Is there something about
Jack’s playing that brings you
together—in addition to
his friendship?

There are a number of components
to Jack’s playing. One is
his inventiveness as a soloist. I
have a finite number of zones
that I can draw my solos from,
but Jack amazes me. When it
comes time to blow, I never know
where he’s coming from—it’s like
he channels this inexhaustible
fountain of creativity. And that’s
exciting. Another thing is that
when it comes time for him to
be a traditional bass player, he’s
totally there. He’s tuned into the
other musicians. When we play
in our quasi-acoustic setting, he
has many different meanderings
he can do in that format, but
when we play electric, he needs to
lock in with the drummer. He’s
able to do both without sounding
self-conscious, and his creativity
shines because of that.

What do you recommend players
do to develop that sense of
style as a player or songwriter?

All of us have musical heroes
and iconic styles we look to.
You need to find a foundation
of something you love to stimulate
the creative juices and bring
the music forward without
being an archivist. You need to
take it to another place.
A lot of people learn to play
their heroes’ songs note-for-note
but can’t take it beyond that.

One of the things that saved
me—and that was a true gift in
the long run—was that I either
didn’t have the ability or the
patience to learn songs note-for-note.
Even when I was learning
Reverend Gary Davis songs or
Merle Travis songs, I got what I
needed to play them. I didn’t agonize
over the minutiae. I’m sure
that some of the old guys didn’t
know that a C# minor chord was
very similar to an Amaj7, they just
liked how it sounded. Yet these
things fall into place as you learn
other people’s songs. I hear cool
chords and intervals in a Reverend
Gary Davis song, and I think,
“I need to snag that,” but I don’t
need to snag all the other things
that make it the Reverend’s song.
I don’t have the ability—and at
this point in my life, I don’t have
the time.
Did you ever experiment with
high-tech electronics like
Jack did when you were in
Jefferson Airplane?

No. Jack was always fearlessly
exploring the possibilities of sound,
but he’s probably the first to tell
you that a lot of that is a less-direct
tone path. If you pass the same
instrument around a room, each
player will sound different—and
that’s the magic of the instrument.
Your body mass affects it—how
you hold it, how big your belly is
pressing against the instrument.
Everyone worries about whether
the guitar has a mahogany back or
a rosewood back, but maybe it’s
about your beer gut pressing on
the guitar’s back.

Dan Erlewine, who lives nearby,
wanted me to put an armrest
on my acoustic guitar to keep
my arm off the face of my guitar
because he said that my arm kills
my tone. I went, “No Dan, it
doesn’t kill the tone, it changes
the tone.” I agree that it will
make a difference, but I’ve spent
my life changing the tone of my
acoustic guitar with my arm.

Tell me about your signature
Martin.

Much of my acoustic guitar
playing has centered on my
1959 Gibson J-50, but at this
point those large guitars are getting
difficult for me to play. I
got a Martin David Bromberg
signature guitar and really liked
it. I talked to [Martin’s director
of artist relations] Dick Boak
and he helped me put my guitar
together. It’s based on Martin’s
M series, and they’re very amplification-
friendly. I used to always
pare off bass from the sound,
because the body was so boomy
on jumbos and dreadnoughts.
I’m not a guitar designer, but I
knew I wanted a 1 3/4"-wide
neck—because my hands have
changed with age—forward
bracing, and a larger soundhole.
It also has a V-shaped neck,
which I like now that I’m older.
I can play it as long as I want,
and it never hurts my hand. And
I loved the Italian spruce top on
the Bromberg guitar, so we used
it on my guitar, too. It was a
treat to put together.

You do a lot of teaching at
your Fur Peace Ranch—how
did that evolve?

My wife and I talked about
doing a camp, so we bought
this 119-acre property in ’89
or ’90 in southeast Ohio. She
really drove the organization of
Fur Peace. My idea of a guitar
camp would have been a few
bales of hay around a campfire,
while her idea was a 200-seat
theater, an NPR radio show, a
restaurant, 17 cabins, etc. She
did all the heavy lifting and my
name helped get it started.

So we have a school with
four-day weekends. We have
great teachers and we all think
it’s important to pass on what
we’ve learned. Personally, I’ve
learned so much about music,
through teaching and learning the
vocabulary necessary to talk about
it, that it has made me a better
player. It sounds sappy, but it’s a
musical community—a bunch
of like-minded spirits of all ages,
hanging out and concentrating on
music. It’s a place of refuge where
you can get away from the weight
of regular life and get back to the
basics of music.

What do you recommend players
do to develop that sense of
style as a player or songwriter?

All of us have musical heroes
and iconic styles we look to.
You need to find a foundation
of something you love to stimulate
the creative juices and bring
the music forward without
being an archivist. You need to
take it to another place.
A lot of people learn to play
their heroes’ songs note-for-note
but can’t take it beyond that.

One of the things that saved
me—and that was a true gift in
the long run—was that I either
didn’t have the ability or the
patience to learn songs note-for-note.
Even when I was learning
Reverend Gary Davis songs or
Merle Travis songs, I got what I
needed to play them. I didn’t agonize
over the minutiae. I’m sure
that some of the old guys didn’t
know that a C# minor chord was
very similar to an Amaj7, they just
liked how it sounded. Yet these
things fall into place as you learn
other people’s songs. I hear cool
chords and intervals in a Reverend
Gary Davis song, and I think,
“I need to snag that,” but I don’t
need to snag all the other things
that make it the Reverend’s song.
I don’t have the ability—and at
this point in my life, I don’t have
the time.
Did you ever experiment with
high-tech electronics like
Jack did when you were in
Jefferson Airplane?

No. Jack was always fearlessly
exploring the possibilities of sound,
but he’s probably the first to tell
you that a lot of that is a less-direct
tone path. If you pass the same
instrument around a room, each
player will sound different—and
that’s the magic of the instrument.
Your body mass affects it—how
you hold it, how big your belly is
pressing against the instrument.
Everyone worries about whether
the guitar has a mahogany back or
a rosewood back, but maybe it’s
about your beer gut pressing on
the guitar’s back.

Dan Erlewine, who lives nearby,
wanted me to put an armrest
on my acoustic guitar to keep
my arm off the face of my guitar
because he said that my arm kills
my tone. I went, “No Dan, it
doesn’t kill the tone, it changes
the tone.” I agree that it will
make a difference, but I’ve spent
my life changing the tone of my
acoustic guitar with my arm.

Tell me about your signature
Martin.

Much of my acoustic guitar
playing has centered on my
1959 Gibson J-50, but at this
point those large guitars are getting
difficult for me to play. I
got a Martin David Bromberg
signature guitar and really liked
it. I talked to [Martin’s director
of artist relations] Dick Boak
and he helped me put my guitar
together. It’s based on Martin’s
M series, and they’re very amplification-
friendly. I used to always
pare off bass from the sound,
because the body was so boomy
on jumbos and dreadnoughts.
I’m not a guitar designer, but I
knew I wanted a 1 3/4"-wide
neck—because my hands have
changed with age—forward
bracing, and a larger soundhole.
It also has a V-shaped neck,
which I like now that I’m older.
I can play it as long as I want,
and it never hurts my hand. And
I loved the Italian spruce top on
the Bromberg guitar, so we used
it on my guitar, too. It was a
treat to put together.

You do a lot of teaching at
your Fur Peace Ranch—how
did that evolve?

My wife and I talked about
doing a camp, so we bought
this 119-acre property in ’89
or ’90 in southeast Ohio. She
really drove the organization of
Fur Peace. My idea of a guitar
camp would have been a few
bales of hay around a campfire,
while her idea was a 200-seat
theater, an NPR radio show, a
restaurant, 17 cabins, etc. She
did all the heavy lifting and my
name helped get it started.

So we have a school with
four-day weekends. We have
great teachers and we all think
it’s important to pass on what
we’ve learned. Personally, I’ve
learned so much about music,
through teaching and learning the
vocabulary necessary to talk about
it, that it has made me a better
player. It sounds sappy, but it’s a
musical community—a bunch
of like-minded spirits of all ages,
hanging out and concentrating on
music. It’s a place of refuge where
you can get away from the weight
of regular life and get back to the
basics of music.

Casady digs in onstage with his goldtop signature Epiphone while Kaukonen strums his Gibson SST acoustic-electric in front of his
Louis Electric Amplifiers KR12 half-stack.
Photo by Barry Berenson

I’m delighted with every single
track—and I’ve rarely felt that
way after a record. In the
past, I’ve gone home and been
unable to listen to the record
because I either second-guessed
myself or the record took a
direction I wasn’t happy with.
This time, though, I walked
out and listened to it. I think
everyone in the band did a great
job on every song. And with
Larry Campbell’s help, I can’t
remember having so much fun
and getting such concise, grooving
results on every song.

What do you think was the
key to things going that well?

You have to have the foundation
in the songs. If you have
secure underpinnings of the
song and a groove, the other
parts flow—including Jorma’s
singing, which is the best I’ve
heard him sing. I brought music
in for one song and Jorma came
up with lyrics in the studio. It
was amazing to watch. Music is
the only art form where artists
come together to work on the
same piece. Can you imagine
five painters working on the
same canvas?
Your playing is very responsive
and improvisational.

I try to reach a balance between
diverting the river to make it
unique and never losing the
groove at the expense of a lick
or finger exercise. You always
have to test that balance to create
something new, while also
trying to capture the essential
atmosphere of the song and not
leave it until the last note.
What do you do to pull everything
together like that?

You listen objectively to the
song from the outside, and then,
inside the song, subjectively
play off the other musicians and
work to make the whole sound
unified and consistent. Each
song is like opening a door and
walking into a room, and each
night is a unique creation. You’re
always trying to play the song
better, but “better” doesn’t mean
playing it the same night after
night—it means getting to the
essence. Some songs might have
a vignette or a lick—a recognizable
aspect that you don’t want
to lose—but if the song changes,
you have to be ready to adapt.

What do you look for in your
bass tone?

I look for a good transition from
my hands, through the instrument,
and through the amplifier.
If I’m playing over the pickup,
I want a nice, tight midrange
sound. Up on the neck, I want
more of a standup-bass sound.
And behind the pickup, I can get
some gank. I measure my sound
against the dynamic response
of an acoustic instrument, with
the conciseness of an electric. I
heard acoustic instruments first,
so I always measure my electric
sound against the sound you can
get from a standup bass. I sat
in front of jazz guys like Charles
Mingus and Scott LaFaro, and I
was always amazed at the diversity
of sound coming from the
same instrument played by different
people.

Tone is something you’ve
obviously given a lot of consideration
to. What’s your
beacon for tone?

I’ve gone full-circle on basses.
After beginning on passive hollowbodies,
experimenting with
active electronics, and using
solidbodies, I’m back to passive
hollowbodies. One of the
things about active electronics
is that your tone is less about
your hands and more about the
miniature preamp. So when I
developed my signature bass with
Epiphone, I wanted to make it
a bass guitar that had acoustic
properties but would record really
well. I wanted the bass to have
one fat-sounding, low-impedance
pickup, which gives you a greater
dynamic range. I focused on
how many windings it had, the
strength of the alnico magnets,
and finding a good preamp,
power amp, and speakers.

Casady digs in onstage with his goldtop signature Epiphone while Kaukonen strums his Gibson SST acoustic-electric in front of his
Louis Electric Amplifiers KR12 half-stack.
Photo by Barry Berenson

I’m delighted with every single
track—and I’ve rarely felt that
way after a record. In the
past, I’ve gone home and been
unable to listen to the record
because I either second-guessed
myself or the record took a
direction I wasn’t happy with.
This time, though, I walked
out and listened to it. I think
everyone in the band did a great
job on every song. And with
Larry Campbell’s help, I can’t
remember having so much fun
and getting such concise, grooving
results on every song.

What do you think was the
key to things going that well?

You have to have the foundation
in the songs. If you have
secure underpinnings of the
song and a groove, the other
parts flow—including Jorma’s
singing, which is the best I’ve
heard him sing. I brought music
in for one song and Jorma came
up with lyrics in the studio. It
was amazing to watch. Music is
the only art form where artists
come together to work on the
same piece. Can you imagine
five painters working on the
same canvas?
Your playing is very responsive
and improvisational.

I try to reach a balance between
diverting the river to make it
unique and never losing the
groove at the expense of a lick
or finger exercise. You always
have to test that balance to create
something new, while also
trying to capture the essential
atmosphere of the song and not
leave it until the last note.
What do you do to pull everything
together like that?

You listen objectively to the
song from the outside, and then,
inside the song, subjectively
play off the other musicians and
work to make the whole sound
unified and consistent. Each
song is like opening a door and
walking into a room, and each
night is a unique creation. You’re
always trying to play the song
better, but “better” doesn’t mean
playing it the same night after
night—it means getting to the
essence. Some songs might have
a vignette or a lick—a recognizable
aspect that you don’t want
to lose—but if the song changes,
you have to be ready to adapt.

What do you look for in your
bass tone?

I look for a good transition from
my hands, through the instrument,
and through the amplifier.
If I’m playing over the pickup,
I want a nice, tight midrange
sound. Up on the neck, I want
more of a standup-bass sound.
And behind the pickup, I can get
some gank. I measure my sound
against the dynamic response
of an acoustic instrument, with
the conciseness of an electric. I
heard acoustic instruments first,
so I always measure my electric
sound against the sound you can
get from a standup bass. I sat
in front of jazz guys like Charles
Mingus and Scott LaFaro, and I
was always amazed at the diversity
of sound coming from the
same instrument played by different
people.

Tone is something you’ve
obviously given a lot of consideration
to. What’s your
beacon for tone?

I’ve gone full-circle on basses.
After beginning on passive hollowbodies,
experimenting with
active electronics, and using
solidbodies, I’m back to passive
hollowbodies. One of the
things about active electronics
is that your tone is less about
your hands and more about the
miniature preamp. So when I
developed my signature bass with
Epiphone, I wanted to make it
a bass guitar that had acoustic
properties but would record really
well. I wanted the bass to have
one fat-sounding, low-impedance
pickup, which gives you a greater
dynamic range. I focused on
how many windings it had, the
strength of the alnico magnets,
and finding a good preamp,
power amp, and speakers.